


Three

by myrhymesarepurer



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: F/M, Royai - Freeform, lanfan - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-12
Updated: 2017-03-17
Packaged: 2018-08-14 15:44:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8019772
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myrhymesarepurer/pseuds/myrhymesarepurer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>FMAB, Post Promised Day / Roy and Riza are forced to share a room. Riza has an unfortunate dream, sparking a tireless battle to separate, resulting in an insufficient amount of sleep, requiring just a touch of blackmail. / Royai, LingFan</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

It wasn’t going to be an issue, staying the last two nights  
of Edward and Winry’s wedding week in a hotel.

Roy and Riza were covered for the bachelor   
and bachelorette party and the one night before.

But, the evening before the wedding,   
more and more people, relatives, friends,   
nearly the entire town of Resembool,

quite a bit more people than one would think  
by just looking at it, all of them flooded into the area.  

Too many of close friends needed a place to stay.   
And, the ever kind, golden-hearted Winry Rockbell   
began to panic.

Attempting to calm his bride-to-be,   
Edward got to work, strategizing,   
attempting to remove some stress.

Because, frankly, he was quite   
a bit more ruthless when it came   
to other people.

 _Why can’t he just be nice,_  
Winry always grumbled.  

This time, it came in handy.

Paninya had to stay. Garfiel,   
Winry’s automail teacher, had also arrived.

May finally returned from Xing.   
It felt right to keep her and Alphonse together.

Then Winry, Ed, and Pinako  
all took up three more beds.

Now, the portion of Team Mustang that did make it out East, Havoc,   
Breda and Fuery opted to  _actually camp_ in the fields of Resembool.   
That was a terrible idea. Havoc pretended to take his own tent,   
but most certainly snuck Rebecca Catalina in to join him during the night.   
  
So she was covered.

Winry was sweet and naïve enough to  
let all four of them use the showers  
to get ready in the mornings.

Terrible idea indeed.

Either way, Riza refused to join the men.   
They were always trouble when together off duty.

And, she didn’t want to be there to witness whatever   
strange whatnot was happening between Havoc and Rebecca.

Roy was too pampered to stay outside,   
with cow manure and bugs and the lot.  

So they stayed at the Rockbell’s   
until Winry’s great dilemma.

Quite naturally, Ed’s pick for the first one to go was Roy Mustang.  
And with General Mustang, his Captain, Riza Hawkeye.

Ed was more willing to kick Roy out into the open prairie,   
than he was Captain Hawkeye.

Hawkeye was an ally.   
Mustang was a bastard.

Though, Ed would never admit his reasoning was much   
more logical, sensible, rational.

Roy Mustang was still a State Alchemist.   
The program hadn’t been shut down yet.

His alchemy came in handy with investigations.   
Frankly, criminals were terrified of Mustang.   
Petrified, really.

So they usually were less inclined to fight back when under arrest   
after taking advantage of the government’s slight discombobulation,   
in the transition from military state to democracy.

Not only that, but he was a Brigadier General now,   
a crucial political player moving forward.

Point being, he was still one of the more handsomely   
compensated citizens of Amestris. And, Riza Hawkeye,   
a far more compassionate human being, held his purse strings.

As predicted, Riza was outstandingly kind when Winry   
addressed her via a phone call a month before.

Riza comforted the young bride-to-be, promised her it was most   
certainly not a problem. And, Ed was quite correct.

With a chuckle, she confirmed she did hold the General’s purse strings,  
particularly to his State Alchemist funds and savings,   
as well as held quite the persuasive hand in his decision-making.

They would be happy to free up some space in the Rockbell  
household and rent rooms at the little inn by the train station.

Winry still, of course, apologized profusely,  
over and over and over. But, Riza wasn’t worried.  

She knew how to handle the General while he traveled,   
and honestly, an inn would elicit less complaining,   
because Edward wouldn’t be in earshot,

like he was two nights in a row before.   
Those two nights were, as expected,   
full of bickering.

Riza has acquired three headaches in the process.   
So, she was looking forward to her own room.

At that point, she was more than happy to leave   
behind the loud little house and stay in the inn  
for the rest of the night.

She had called in the reservation far in advance,   
two nights, one room,  
two twin beds.

_One room._

“Pardon me?”

“Yes, I have you down for Room Four,   
two nights, two twin beds.”  

Roy tapped his foot and examined  
the tiny little lobby, if you could call it that.   
It was cute, quaint,   
very country.

But, there were owls   
everywhere.

Owl shaped clock,   
two owl shaped rugs.

At least 30 owl figurines cluttering the shelves behind   
the sweet old woman flipping through her paper logs,   
reading back the details of Riza’s call.

Roy watched every owl on the shelves,   
wincing at each pair of creepy eyes.

Surely they would come awake   
during the dead of night  
and kill them both.

He would sleep with his gloves on perhaps.

In other words, Roy wasn’t paying attention   
when Riza’s voice started to betray her,  
with just the slightest bit of panic.

“I apologize. I believe I reserved two rooms,”

Roy averted his eyes to a paper sign near the hallway,   
over a little table boasting about a sparkling new   
water jug and directions to a state of the art ice machine.

Well, at least they could have a complimentary   
ice-cold glass of water before they died.

“I have you down here for only one. There are two separate beds though!”   
the old woman tried to comfort Riza, trying her best not to place blame.

But, Riza knew it was her fault.

That week she made the arrangement was a particularly difficult one.   
The past month was a particularly difficult one.

She and the General were far too overworked,   
preparing for the official move to Ishval.

She must have made a mistake.

She had hoped Roy hadn’t heard, hoping he was distracted,   
disgruntled over the loss of his latest fight with Fullmetal:  
who could eat the most in one sitting. Pathetic.

But, this particular detail,   
sharing a room with his Captain,   
something she never ever would have allowed,

this particular mistake was unmissable,  
unforgettable music to his ears,

as he immediately forgot about Fullmetal,   
the heavy weight of his over-stuffed stomach,   
as well as the evil killer owls that would haunt his nightmares tonight.

“One room, huh?” Roy grinned, joked, teased.   
It earned him a glare. She knew precisely what he was suggesting.

It was an old joke, a dead horse.   
Riza mumbled to him, utterly irritated.

“Not if I can help it, Sir.”

Roy frowned.

She turned back to the little lady,  
“Could we rent a second room, ‘madam?”

Riza didn’t mean to say it,   
but it certainly came out,   
“I’ll pay double.”

“ _Double_?” Roy whined, not for the fact that   
the extra cost would be out of his pocket book,

But, rather, that Riza Hawkeye was just so good   
at shutting him down flat. Even when he was joking.

The owner gave Riza an apologetic,   
sympathetic little frown.

“I’m sorry, my dear, We had a guest book   
the other three rooms for their own party.”

“Here for the Elric-Rockbell wedding?”   
Roy asked. The woman nodded.

Roy looked to Riza,   
“I didn’t know Fullmetal had so many friends.”

Riza didn’t have time at all to respond,   
to reprimand him, still so childish about a boy   
nearly half his age.

Because it was then that Ling,  
yes Ling Yao, newly crowned Emperor   
of the great country of Xing

appeared in the lobby out of nowhere,   
closely behind was his beloved bodyguard,    
Lan Fan.

All three jumped at the sudden   
burst of an over-joyous voice,

out   
of   
nowhere.

“General, Captain! What a delight,”

Riza calmed her heartbeat, pulled her grip off her gun.   
Roy slipped his hand out of the glove in his pocket.

And, the woman behind the counter lowered the largest   
wooden owl she had grabbed off the shelf.

“We were just going for dinner.   
Would you like to tag along?”  

“So, you’re the guest who has booked three rooms?”

Riza ignored his offer and asked instantly,   
resisting the urge to immediately plead or pay or fight   
for the rights to a room of her own.

“Oh yes! Plenty of room for our stay. The suite for myself.   
a cozy room for Lan Fan,“  

“You guys aren’t together yet?”   
Roy grumbled under his breath.

Riza elbowed him in the rib, hard.   
Roy burst into a fit of coughing.

“Oh no, of course not,” Ling answered Roy, utilizing his ears   
of a fruit bat, “That would be quite inappropriate, currently,   
at least, for a number of reasons.”

Ling smiled slyly, “But you two know all about that.”

Roy gaped. Riza steeled, as did Lan Fan.   
None of them denied anything.

“Could we use your other room, Ling?”   
“Your Majesty,” Lan Fan corrected her.

“No no, Lan Fan. These are our friends.” Ling said,   
“Captain Hawkeye, You are welcome to our third room.

It has a nice queen-sized bed.   
Very relaxing. Just what you need, I bet.”

Riza’s lungs felt like they collapsed in relief,   
all the breath she had been holding, finally set free.   
  
Roy stared at his Captain, a bit wounded.  

“Thank you, Your Majesty, from the bottom of my hea-“  
“Of course you’ll have to move our luggage around.”

“Ah yes,” the old lady traced Ling and Lan Fan’s   
reservation penciled in her big book,   
“They rented the third room for cargo.”

She looked from Riza to Roy,   
once more, apologetically,  
“It is quite packed.”

“You need a whole room for luggage?” Roy said, stale,   
hopeless, and not ready to hear how much of his money Riza   
would offer the Emperor to let her just sleep on top of the luggage itself,   
rather than anywhere near him.

“His majesty requires many things when traveling.   
Clothing, traditional, formal, and lounge wear.   
Daily necessities.   
Our wedding gifts for the bride and groom-“

Lan Fan started with the basics, the reasonable,  
Ling gave himself away as an unnecessarily heavy packer   
when he mentioned,  “As well as my dining collection, of course.”

Lan Fan sighed. “A dining collection?” Riza asked.

“Priceless Xingese originals,”

“Why?” Roy said simply, ready for bed,   
ready to sleep away   
his aching stomach,   
those evil owls,   
and Hawkeye’s utter rejection,   
all of it.

“What else am I to eat on?” Ling laughed,   
unfazed, and unmerciful in the politest way.

“Understood,” Riza said quietly,   
picked up her suitcase, and admitted defeat.

“Are you sure, Captain?” Roy checked,   
both with the slightest bit of sass,   
and a touch of actual concern.

Riza just kept her back turned,   
pressing forward.  

He would move the luggage.   
He would complain about it, of course.   
He would tease her until all the cows in Resembool came home.

But, he would move the luggage,   
if sharing a room with him   
really truly bothered her.

“Let’s just go to bed,” she said,   
even too tired to tack on a “sir.”

“Goodnight General, Captain!”  
 _His majesty_ called cheerily from the lobby.

Roy looked over his shoulder,   
ignored Ling’s lifted hand wave,   
then checked Riza once more.

Her shoulders slumped.   
He saw the room across from theirs.

Room Three. He could break in,  
set their luggage on fire,   
Roy thought.

That would certainly clear up some space.

“Please don’t burn their belongings, General”  
Riza said weakly, without even turning.  

Roy reached to hold the door open  
for the rest of her way in, struggling with   
her small suitcase.

“Not even for your sake, Captain?”   
“Not even for my sake.”  


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> after forty years, I've returned with chapter two of a little fic that I have way way way way overdone, as it's like ninety pages now but oh well. so, here's the continuation of me trying to write some smut and just...drowning it all in reasonable plot. this one is still a little hot -ahem-

As a fair warning,  
it’s important to note

that whoever is to hear,  
whoever is to read  
of the following events,

you.

reader, listener, eavesdropper  
will be shocked, most likely,  
lost,  
dumfounded.

It was a night of disastrous mistakes,  
one after the other. First the room,  
then the pajamas, then

Roy.

You: the reader,  
the listener,  
the spy,

will swear on your life:  
That is not Riza Hawkeye.

Rest assured, it certainly wasn’t.

But.

Do be forewarned, stay alert, prepared,  
for it most certainly

was.

Moving forward, it will be important to document the details,  
every tip, every tick, every little disruption of regular routine,  
standard programming, if you will.

The proof was in the pudding, the devil in the details,  
and for the General and his Captain,

these said dastardly, devious details  
did them in entirely. So, yes.

It is very best for post-mortem review, to lay it all out in black and white,  
every subtle thought, every far off memory,  
every everything

that could have broken the two most fortified soldiers  
down to dust at lightning speed.

We begin with the primary theory,  
the main hypothesis:

It was the Wedding, maybe.

Silly little parties that seemed to throw  
everyone for a loop, leaving its attendants  
cursed in one way or another,

thinking,  
and dreaming,  
and wondering

leaving Riza Hawkeye, not immune in anyway,  
in a trance, a trance of nearly nothing truly

decipherable.

She was distracted.  
She was tilted ever so.

She was twenty-nine years old.

Riza laid on the twin bed,  
one of two.

This room, of course,  
was utterly unplanned, a mistake,  
and one certain source of her present dread.

She looked to the other twin,  
belonging to her superior officer.

Decency be damned, Riza simply needed a room to herself,  
away from the chaos, from the yelling, and planning,  
and the nerves.

She was twenty-nine.

Winry pleaded for advice Riza didn’t have.  
She was twenty-nine, and she could only provide  
the most generic lines she had maybe  
read in a book  
or seen at the theatre.

Everyone’s scared in these situations, She told her friend.  
But, tomorrow, the two of you can be scared together.

Perfectly polished,  
carefully crafted  
nonsense.

She couldn’t offer anything more.

Riza stared at the ceiling fan, long blonde hair splayed out,  
She just needed silence, time to wait out the curse,  
wondering, pondering, thinking

Twenty-nine.

Such a persistent thought was so aggravatingly misplaced,  
for Riza was never truly a woman that pined after marriage,  
relationships,  
any of it.

but it was a small secret of her own, that Berthold Hawkeye  
did his best to rid himself of his daughter.

Long ago, he had a most clever thought.

He could marry her off.  
He could sell her.

Such an archaic notion, to be sure,  
but Riza had to admit it was smart.

Her mother, his wife, was dead and deep in the ground,  
Berthold Hawkeye and his daughter were alone together,  
and he despised her,

for reasons she could never  
fully understand at the time.

He didn’t like her.  
He was an alchemist.

There was no real money in alchemy,  
not out that far East at least.

They were practically starving.  
These facts were all she knew.

So, as she acknowledged before, the strategy was clever,  
and very possibly could produce a win-win turnout.

For, Berthold Hawkeye’s daughter was beautiful,  
a pretty little possession much worth purchasing,  
if you were willing to pay,  
just as well as put up with her.

Once Riza had reached the age of thirteen, Berthold Hawkeye  
took her on a few trips for his research. His daughter had thought  
for a moment perhaps her father had changed his mind,  
decided to see Riza, enjoy Riza,  
care, perhaps.

They traveled near central Amestris, little cities, little towns in the south,  
for exactly what, she was never sure at the time. But, the foolish young girl  
was content with the sudden attention,  
and ever so blinded.

When they returned, slowly strange men, years older than her,  
men she almost barely recognized, from central, from their trips south,  
They all turned up at the front door of the Hawkeye Estate.

most evidently invited under the table,  
covertly, hush-hush. Berthold told his daughter  
to show the visitor in, keep him comfortable.

He would only be a moment.

It was all a facade, their trips, these meetings.  
Riza caught on quite quickly, yet not quick enough  
to avoid looking like a fool.

After hours of insufferable small talk, unrequited flirting, an endless game  
of twenty questions, and the out-right evaluation of her worth;   
after all that, most conveniently Berthold would appear realizing he,   
in fact, did not have time  
for any appointments that day.

It was all for her display,  
the floor show,  
the sample.

In the end, despite all of his efforts, Berthold Hawkeye  
never could close his daughter’s sale.

Riza Hawkeye was beautiful, so like her mother,  
but much reserved, calculating, intelligent,  
intimidating,

like her father.

Riza wisely supposed she ‘unintentionally’ enhanced  
these most undesirable characteristics deemed ill fit  
for a wife by these most insufferable men.

Perhaps she had a hand in her failure. She knew she had.  
Yet, it became a most reliable truth that Riza Hawkeye  
would never be quite the marrying type.

Her father slapped her face after the fourth rejection,  
the last rejection, a hopeful solution short lived.

He yelled and screamed, and Riza then  
and now agreed in her insufficiency.

She wasn’t a desirable candidate, particularly when  
she decided to appear as such. Even more unfortunately so,  
as Riza grew into adulthood, she made mistake after mistake,  
after traumatic, disastrous,  
failure,

spoiled to the core by ignorance,  
and stupidity, and fatal idealism.

Riza silently resigned to the truth:  
she would never be a woman  
of the loving type either.

She was twenty-nine years old now,  
and the loveliest young couple she knew  
was tying the knot,

their little silly party conjuring up an irrelevant part of her past,  
that most unfortunately all led her to the very  
very inconvenient thought

that there was one candidate,  
she wouldn’t have minded getting to know,

well, she thought he was a candidate at least,  
a last hail-mary. He had appeared out of nowhere,  
for no reason, moving from Central.

He was around her age,  
painfully chipper,  
confident,  
optimistic.

It was irritating.  
It was  _hypnotizing._

Riza could not deny she was the slightest bit pleased  
to overhear that his mother owned a bar.  
Certainly, she would have money.

Perhaps her father would be interested.  
Perhaps he could close her sale after all.

He wasn’t a candidate, in the end.  
He was her father’s pride, his prized pony.

But, for a day or two, there was hope. Yes, back then,  
a young foolish Riza Hawkeye would not have minded  
if her father considered his appre-

“I’m finished with the shower.”

Riza draped her arm over her eyes,  
and feigned sleep. Roy wasn’t fooled.

“How can you even pretend to sleep  
with all those murderous birds in the lobby?”

“Some of us aren’t frightened by inanimate objects, Sir,”  
Riza mumbled quickly, sharply.

“I refuse to believe that,” he quipped.

“You watch. All of them will awaken in the middle of the night,  
bust through the door and attempt to peck us to death,”

“Owls do not often peck, Sir,” she looked to him. Yet, Roy Mustang was too deep into his tantrum, throwing his hand toward the general direction of the front desk two doors down.

“We would be done for, but I would certainly not hesitate in incinerating every last one, therefore, saving your-” “Please, General, do not set fire to others’ possessions-”

Roy waved the ridiculous,  
most Hawkeye-like notion away.

“Not even for your sake I know, I know”

Roy took his towel to his head and shook it dry,  
leaving his hair sticking up every which way.

Then met with her eyes again,  
and smirked,

“I will expect quite the apology when the time comes, however,”  
Roy exhaled a laugh, “You’ll be begging me to burn all of them.”

Riza stared at him blankly, noting involuntarily, that despite the fact that the General soaked rendered him useless during combat, Riza had long thought Roy looked rather charming around water.

“Until then, perhaps, develop a much stronger constitution, ”  
Riza returned her attention to the ceiling fan, “in preparation, Sir.”

“Fine then,” he huffed, tossing the towel to the corner of the room,  
“But, I can not guarantee I won’t have nightmares.”

Riza cinched a smile and glanced at him, “Just don’t wake me.”  
“Hm,” Roy thought, “I’ll be sure to dream of something else then.”

Riza hummed, not willing to continue the conversation.  
Roy glanced at her and fought off a frown.

Sundresses.

He would surely dream of sundresses if he had a choice.  
The Captain held fast a trend of wearing the things  
during their time in Resembool.

It wasn’t an occasion for uniform.  
They were on leave,

and Winry Rockbell so enjoyed dressing Riza up.  
Even though Roy could tell his Captain was the slightest bit uncomfortable,  
much preferring her navy blues, she had slowly warmed up to the twirl of the skirts,   
the way the fabric fit her figure.

Riza Hawkeye ultimately caved for her sweet friend.  
She let her hair down for the week, granted Winry permission  
to thoroughly pamper her while the little lady worked off the wedding jitters.

Winry exploited the opportunity to most blatantly plot against General Mustang,  
Roy swore up and down that was her grand, devious scheme,

personally dabbing Riza’s neck with subtle perfumes from afar,  
courtesy of Edward’s travels. She lined her lips with velvet lipstick,  
and pushed her out into the den like that,  
out in front of all of them.

Roy had to go for something stronger than orange juice and champagne  
after the great reveal. “It’s eleven in the morning, asshole.”

Roy raised an eyebrow at Fullmetal,  
plopped back down in his chair  
while Edward grumbled,

“Stop drinking up my supply.”

Riza said nothing. She went for the fruit,  
and just sat there, modest and simple,  
and stunning.

To be candid, Riza Hawkeye made Roy drool about maybe  
thirty to forty percent of the time. The other sixty,  
give or take, Roy Mustang most prided himself,  
on being a strong enough man  
to ignore it.

However, this night, perhaps her sundresses could be  
used for good, rather than such plotting evil,

a most pleasant substitute  
for nightmares of hellraising demon birds.

Roy would not tell his Captain,  
his plan would remain most private,

for every time he glanced at Riza,  
laying stiff on her bed,

he had pitty, had concern,  
had compassion.

She was actually quite upset with this arrangement.  
She was actually beating herself up.

She was exhausted.

Roy cleared his throat. “Perhaps a shower  
would be good for you, Captain.”

She took awhile to answer, staring blankly.  
Twenty-nine. “Yes, perhaps.”

It seemed Roy would give her some silence,  
some time to fight off the thoughts,  
the chaos.

It was very considerate,  
very observant,

but utterly spoiled by the very beginning  
of that night’s most exposing, humiliating,  
chain of events.

Reader, watcher, eavesdropper, spy,  
prepare yourselves and please understand,  
this certainly couldn’t be Riza Hawkeye.

She swore up and down,  
she must have been a different woman,  
taken over,  
deprived of control.

For when it all started,  
her heart had stopped.

She looked up from her suitcase,  
and could only say, “Oh.”

“What’s wrong?” Roy said from behind her.  
Riza sighed, bit her lip, faced the issue head on.

“It appears I forgot my sleeping wear at the Rockbell’s.”

There was a second of hesitation,  
a moment of nothing,

before Roy choked out a laugh,  
and snidely commented,

“You forgot something?”

Riza snapped all too fast, “Yes, it seems I did. Perhaps if you had not spent  
so much time bickering with an eighteen year old, Sir, I would have had even  
just a single moment to think clearly.” Roy’s jaw dropped,

“You’re blaming this on me? Are you kidding?”  
“You are very often to blame, General.”

Roy lifted both eyebrows,  
not angry, just surprised,  
just

guilty.

She was probably right. He did do quite a bit of bickering that night,  
that week. Perhaps it was the Wedding.  
He was off, tilted ever so.

And, she kept wearing those damned sundresses.  
Riza held the bridge of her nose,  
huffed, quieted,  
settled,

a completely different woman, she thought,  
deprived of all control.

“I’ve simply had a difficult evening, my apologies, Sir,”  
Riza bit her lip. Twenty-nine. Twenty-nine.

Weddings.

Silly little parties that had a knack  
for driving its guests utterly insane.

They had packed light, left the Rockbell household only with the essentials.  
She had no options. No clothes she could wear without wrinkling,  
without ruining.

She didn’t even have her uniform.

She was just so ever close to snatching her bag up  
and chucking it across the room,  
through the window.

Shattered glass may be satisfying, she thought,  
gripped the bag, and then only resisted the throw  
when she was interrupted.

Roy outstretched his arm, and nudged his night shirt  
to her, for her. Riza crinkled her eyebrows,  
noting so shamefully quick,

her commanding officer was left  
half naked. “Take it,” he said.

Riza froze a little, forced herself  
to stare at the General’s eyes,

halting her gut reaction to such a sight:  
her commanding officer, Roy Mustang,  
without nearly any clothing at all.

She looked at his eyes, professionally,  
sternly. She looked to his eyes,  
not his arms,  
or his abs,  
or

“Don’t you need this, Sir?”  
“No,” he said surely, “I usually sleep in much less.”

Riza scrunched her nose violently,  
turned away, muttering,

“I did not need to know that, Sir.”  
Roy nudged it again, “Take it.”

Riza risked another look, stared at the cloth,  
and only the cloth, wishing so desperately that her boss,  
her very best friend was just  
the least bit homely.

She had always wished that. If granted, it would  
have solved an enormous lot of problems.

But, he would never be, not ever, so Riza pushed the thought aside,  
took the shirt gingerly, then stepped away as quickly as possible.

Defenses re-employed or no,  
he definitely was not wearing enough  
clothing to be within five feet of her.

Riza cleared her throat quietly, fought off the heat of utter discomfort,  
and loathed the fact that even she hadn’t built quite  
enough resistance to such frivolous factors of relationships.

How pathetic.

“Thank you, Sir,” she said softly,  
“Anytime,” he said.

The Captain finally breathed when he stepped away,  
to turn down the covers. She rummaged through her bag  
for -

“Oh.” Her skin went cold.  
“Oh?” Roy repeated.

Her shoulders collapsed, flat out defeated.  
She held her head in her hands.  
She was done for.  
How-

How.

“The unfortunate truth,” Riza bit her lip,  
massaged her temples, “is that I still lack a bottom piece.”

How.  
How could she-  
What was happen-

“Riza,” Roy said, so naturally, attempting to save the day  
as always, And, this time, he was shirtless.

Riza ignored it, ignored her name,  
so very rarely ever muttered in Roy’s voice.

Riza ignored it ever still. It made her relive  
all those suitors, and then after  
the apprentice.

She shook it all away.  
She would have been just fine.

She just needed a couple seconds.  
Perhaps it was the wedding.

She was off.  
She was scattered,  
She was twenty-nine,  
and panicking like a child.

“We have separate beds,” he said evenly,  
practically, “You’ll be under piles of blankets.”

Riza blinked, wondering when Roy Mustang was finally going to satisfy  
his knight and shining armor complex. She wondered if he would forever  
make the effort to meet his quota  
with her.

“This is not-.”

She didn’t let him finish.

The issue was solved.  
She needed time.

“I’ll be off to the shower then.”

Roy watched her leave, watched her pause  
in the doorway, “Thank you, Sir.”

He grinned, “I’m not so terrible of a roommate, now am I?”  
Riza just vanished, and only reappeared as a shadow  
in dark moonlight.

She glanced around the corner, at his bed, then back to hers.  
She ran a towel through her long hair,  
and waited-

“I won’t peek, Captain,” Roy said blandly,  
tossing once more on the lumpy mattress,

disgruntled that his decision  
to dream of sundresses

stood no match to the owls of the Owl Inn, or whatever weird  
something or other this Wedding had cursed him with,

whatever it was.  
He wouldn’t be getting any sleep.

“Very well, General,” she said softly,  
flew to her bed in a flurry,  
then the night  
was over.

Riza had quiet, she had peace, regardless of her lack of clothing,  
or her chatty commanding officer only a foot or two away.

They wished each other soft goodnights. Riza thought  
of the number twenty-nine for the very last time that night,  
to her inexplicable relief.

However, as you may have guessed,  
you readers, listeners, onlookers,

the Universe,  
the Wedding,  
was evidently hell-bent on damning  
Riza Hawkeye, Roy Mustang,  
to destruction.

Roy stayed up, sleep deprived,  
and listened, pleasantly amused

that a dreaming Riza Hawkeye hummed,  
and sighed, and muttered small unintelligible words  
while she slept.

Cute, he thought. He would have bet her dreams  
always included brownies. always.

Sweets were her so secret coping mechanism.  
Roy was either happy or jealous Riza could just lay there  
and dream of sugar plums, and chocolate, and frosting,

while he was up tossing  
and turning over  
nothing,  
something.

Perhaps it was the Wedding.  
Roy shook the thought away.

Yes. He was then immensely jealous of his Captain,  
and even more painfully so when her dreamy hums and sighs,  
morphed into something far less  
sugar related,  
less cute

less  
innocent

Truth be told, the following noises from her little bed were most likely  
far less severe, far quieter, softer, much tame  
than they had occurred to Roy Mustang that night.

It was the significance of the shattering shock  
of the entire circumstance that was most certainly  
the culprit in the making of his instant insanity.

First,  
she giggled,  
languid and leisurely.

Not necessarily any cause for alarm,  
Roy simply raised an eyebrow to himself,  
shifted under the covers,  
turning to her.

Since when were brownies funny.  
They certainly were not.

Roy knew she must have been dreaming,  
of something much less sweet,  
when he watched her give the slightest gasp.

Roy tensed, propped up on his elbow.

If he wasn’t dreaming,  
if he was still wide awake,  
this was a priceless piece of information,  
a very valuable mid-night happenstance.

Surely he was wrong.  
Surely he was sleeping.

But, he wasn’t.

Another sigh, soft and breathy,  
followed by an  
honest  
to  
god

moan.

Roy shot up and cut, hissed an  
involuntarily, utterly desperate,

“Riza” in the dark.

Skip the formalities.  
Skip the facade.

Damn it all to hell.  
This needed to stop.

Riza only, most tortuously responded  
with another delightful cocktail of a squeak,  
a breathy “ah,”  
the shift of the blanket,  
curling of her toes, riding the tension  
for as utterly long as possible.

Roy Mustang was frozen, astounded,  
speechless.

Riza Hawkeye  
having a sex dream.

where was he?

what alternate universe had he stumbled upon,  
having been damned to endure the Wedding  
and the thinking, Riza in sundresses,  
and now this.

How utterly unfair.

The end all, be all arrived when Roy bit out  
another caustic, pleading, “ _Riza_. Wake up!”

and, Riza only dreamily responded  
with a sigh, a gasp and a,  
“Ro-”

He chucked a pillow at her, shifting under the covers,  
purposefully trying to cut her off, “-oy.”

The full of his name, on her lips,  
in that tone. He had to interrupt.

He couldn’t take it. He held back a moan himself,  
losing count of all the times this possibility,  
this dream of sorts,  
had shamefully crossed his mind.

“ _Riza!_ ” he shouted, hissed off the surge,  
throwing his last pillow, his last hope,  
landing right on her face.

finally,  
 _finally_ she woke up,  
shot up, coughing for air,

realizing where she was,  
realizing who she was with,

“I’m sorry, Sir,” she said quietly, Roy swallowed.  
“I must have been dreaming quite loudly”

She must have forgotten. She most certainly  
had forgotten precisely what had happened,  
for a good, solid, tortuously long  
three seconds

Roy said nothing in those three seconds.

He just stared, stone still while Riza rubbed sleep from her eyes,  
swept her hair off her shoulders,  
and looked to Roy’s twin,

then, at the sight of him, and his painfully toned muscles,  
finally, she remembered, in three,  
two,  
one.

“I-” Her face turned a bright pink,  
almost even visible in the dark moonlight.

Riza turned away so fast, she was sure she would  
have whiplash in the morning. She cursed violently  
under her breath.

Roy hadn’t moved a muscle even when she finally worked  
up the gall to review the facts.

“I just had a-”  
“Yes,” he said quickly,  
“And, you overheard-”  
“Yup.”

There was a moment of composure,  
before she collapsed into her hands,  
bright pink,  
eyes watering,

humiliated.

On a dime, the night flipped  
from mildly irritating,  
to irreparably

traumatic.

Riza raced through her mind  
for a solution, a getaway,  
anything.

a walk, that was reasonable, right?

she would go on a walk  
in the middle of the night.

Riza swung her legs off the bed  
and leapt to her feet,  
searched for her shoes,

For some ridiculous reason,  
Roy jumped up to stop her.

Suddenly, acutely aware she was  
wearing only his night shirt,  
loose and long,  
but hitting only at her thighs.

Oh god.

How unwise of a call that would certainly  
be his undoing that night.

He couldn’t let her leave.  
This was -  
He needed to-

Roy was suddenly in front of her,  
far far too close.

“You’re blocking me, Sir.” The Captain gritted her teeth,  
panicked, almost furious. “We should talk,” is all he said.

“ _Talk_?” she scoffed, astounded, “Surely, you are joking.”  
“No. We should talk about it.”  
“About  _what_?” she growled.  
“About _that_ ,” Roy threw a point to her bed.

“I  _indomitably_  disagree. I’m leaving.”

She felt the timer ticking,  
her ultimate doom approaching.

“I’m going for a walk. Now, move.”

Riza went for the slim margin between  
Roy and the wall, she plunged, committed.

But, he stretched out his arm and nearly closelined  
her nose, “But, that was-” Riza went up into flames,  
self-destructed, even before the ticking clock  
could reach

three.  
two.

“Believe it or not, Sir, That,” she cut,  
“has absolutely nothing to do with you.”

“But, you said my name.”

The room turned to ice,  
but Roy was already frozen.

Riza’s face blanched, paled,  
and quickly she pushed through,

“No I didn’t.”  
“You did.”  
“No, I-”  
“You know you did.”

And, he was certainly, very correct,  
for the second he informed her,  
the second he said so,

Riza could hear her own voice, see her own dream  
far in the back of her mind. She had said Roy,  
and she did say it with the slightest bit,  
the greatest bit

of  _ecstasy._

She had nothing. She had no plan.  
She had no excuse. She just turned on her heel.

“I’m going back to bed.”

Roy snatched her wrist before she could dash,  
yet so immediately dropped it  
like it was white hot,  
dangerous.

“Please, don’t.”

“Why not, Sir,” reminding him of his position, what exactly  
he had the right to know, regardless of the fact  
that she may have, might have  
theoretically,  
allegedly,  
said his name.

“What if it happens again?”  
“It won’t.”  
“It might, and if it does, I-”

an insufferable quiet, she could only last so long,  
and neither could he. He had to say it,  
for his own sake.

three  
two,

“I very much can not survive that again.”  
“You’re sincerely that weak, General?”  
“Yes.”

Riza blinked. Roy urgently resisted  
stepping closer.“You can’t do that.  
I go crazy, you understand?”

Roy begged, “It makes me want to-”

three,  
two,  
one

Riza finally shatters, crashes and burns,  
bursting into pieces of her self,  
now randomly arranged into the shape  
of some completely,

incredibly different woman.

“Want to what?”

Roy absolutely couldn’t believe  
Riza Hawkeye actually said that,  
It wasn’t an inquiry, it was an invitation.

Show me, she was essentially saying.

That is not Riza Hawkeye.

However, though a most separate woman Riza may have been  
in those moments, the makeup of that strange woman,  
still consisted purely of shards  
of herself.

“Want to what?”

She had challenged again,  
struggling for strength,

knowing precisely the response,  
the answer was obvious.

Still, she played dumb.

She still let herself ask,  
for some reason,  
she still let it happen.

“What consequences must I endure to be rid of this?”

He tried to say something.  
He couldn’t.

She raised an eyebrow,  
shook her head, utterly impatient.

Show me, she was essentially saying,  
My pleasure, he instantly thought.

It could have been a dream,  
his Captain having such a request.

Either way, he wouldn’t  
squander the opportunity.

Roy was not as smooth as he had always hoped,  
always imagined he’d be. He fumbled, stepping to her,  
wrapping his arm around her back,

and guided her to him, reaching to pull  
her leg up around his waist.

Riza’s breath hitched,  
Roy’s chest pounded,  
too close.

Riza grabbed at his flannel pants for support,  
and wisely so as he started sliding his hand  
along her smooth,  
soft leg,  
up his long lose shirt.

He got too high on her thigh. Riza inhaled, breath caught,  
biting her lip to keep her head from throwing  
all the way back.

Roy drew closer,  
hovering her nose.

Roy breathed in,  
Riza breathed out.

And, for the first time  
in ten years,

Roy Mustang kissed her just so.  
and Riza Hawkeye panicked,

desperate for it to end,  
desperate for it to never stop

how disgustingly  
cheesy.

He dropped her leg and braced her neck,  
pulled her in and deepened it all,

not thinking,  
fully forgetting

everything but the smell of her hair, the feel of her skin,  
and continually counting the number of years he had lost,  
never being so close to her.

He lost track of the count,  
He started again,  
and again.

He was finally interrupted, he jolted and jumped,  
when Riza’s fingers gripped too tightly his pajama bottoms,  
holding on, keeping stable,

but effectively forcing Roy to grit his teeth  
and hiss of the surge, and involuntarily tear away.

And, just like that, they were both  
shocked out of it  
in total.

It was quite impressive, actually.  
Perhaps they had such practice,  
daydreams and the like.

Squashing the thought immediately  
shredding any evidence of the fantasy.

So they did so.

Roy’s hands were tingling.  
Riza gaped, horrified,  
humiliated.

“This is illegal.”

She said it matter-o-factly.

Not much of a judgment.  
Not much of an accusation.

Just a fact, she pondered it,  
and realized that fact,  
so very important,

that fact had actually  
completely slipped her mind.

Riza grazed her lips with fingertips,  
feeling the flame, the heat,  
the blaze.

Whiskey eyes finally met his gaze of black,  
clear through the weak moonlight in blue.

They hadn’t been anywhere near this close  
since she was eighteen, he was twenty,

the soldier returned, her father long gone,  
flame alchemy burned into her back.

He cared too much then, wringing his hands over how  
she was just a little cold while he studied.

He still cared too much.

It was that week she realized  
she couldn’t get enough of it.

It was that week they both lit on fire.  
and, in this moment Riza could suddenly  
feel it on her lips,  
on his skin,  
in the air.

They had lost themselves.  
They had once forgotten,  
mandatorily,  
crucially.

But, in a hot spark they instantly  
became thoroughly reacquainted  
with the burn,

even so still they both foolishly believed  
they could resolve such a disaster  
by sheer force of will,

The General and his Captain,  
simultaneously began to ramble  
at warp speed.

“We could get fi-  
"I could get us courtmarsh-”

“I’m sorry, Sir, I w-”  
“My apologies, Captain, I certainly didn’t mean-”

“Maybe we shou-”  
“I’ll go find another room”

“Yes Sir.” Riza choked out.

Roy then left his suitcase,  
his shoes, his shirt, his key,  
his Captain

and  
vanished.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- tries to write smut -  
> \- writes sincerely complicated background plot -  
> \- tries to write three chapters -  
> \- ends up writing ninety pages, splitting into four -
> 
> Kudos, comments, let me know what you think. I crave attention.  
> This story is basically finished so. Keep a look out. Nice stuff ahead.


	3. Chapter Three

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have returned with the main idea for this story. a lit twenty-seven paged chapter of who knows. this is my favorite one at least. but, here I am, trying to write some smut…and drowning it in reasonable plot
> 
> and a bit of adorable humor.  
> oh, and a lil bit of LanFan.  
> Hmnn. Enjoy!

Roy very much tried to keep the knock quiet,   
covert. He wanted to hide,   
disappear even.

There were only four rooms   
in this small creepy   
tiny little inn.

But, he was biting his lip raw,   
willing the heat on his hands,   
on his lips,   
in the pit of his stomach,  
willing that burn to

well,

he was attempting to throw cold water on the situation,   
without actually having to give the time or the energy,   
to physically retrieve the cold water

complimentary  
or no.

Instead, he knocked,   
he rushed,

and, thus, said knock   
turned to a bit of a bang.

He wasn’t sure who was in Room One,   
Lan Fan, Ling, or the luggage.

He didn’t know.

It just seemed like a logical place to start.  
Also, it was the farthest he could get   
from Room Four,

from Riza,   
in that shirt.

It was Lan Fan that answered the door warily,   
only opening it just so.

“You can put away the throwing stars.  
 I come in peace.”

Lan Fan’s face dropped along with the arm holding  
her knives tight behind her back,   
ready to pull,   
wind,   
and strike.

“I am ashamed you saw through me.”  

He coughed a sick laugh,  
“I know a woman quite like you.”

Roy locked his jaw. It was a poor choice of subject,   
considering. But, it was true. He knew she came prepared.

Even to Resembool.

And, Roy needed to last long enough   
without a knife in his jugular   
to get that key.

“Indeed,” Lan Fan said, steeled,   
lifted her chin and opened the door   
only an inch more.

How generous.

“I need your spare room,”    
“May I inquire as to why, General?”

Roy sucked the desperation out of his voice.   
He went into pure diplomat mode, quick, calculating,   
and strong enough not to be utterly  _hypnotized_  by his Captain.

quickly, he became   
The General.

“Why not?” he said feigning a peek behind her,  
“Seems you only need this one,”

Lan Fan had been bested twice in one evening, twice   
in the last five minutes. Roy had never seen the bodyguard,   
the fighter, the survivor so deflated,   
vulnerable.

He knew.

The General knew Lan Fan wasn’t alone.   
He had sized her up, analyzed.

Roy knew now he had knocked on Ling’s door,   
and not her own. He knew.   
He was good.

She had no choice but to turn in a flash,   
and produce a key out of nowhere,   
immediately.

Leaving no time for questions,   
for the disclosure of any more sensitive details.

Lan Fan was quiet when she spoke,   
“You understand I must keep my own quarters.”

She extended his salvation to him.   
Her request was for appearances, he knew.

for an alibi,   
for emergencies.

Who was to catch any of them in this stupid, little,   
tiny owl-infested inn in the middle of absolutely nowhere?  

However, the General had left his captain   
under the same paranoia.

The same line,   
utterly crossed.  

_This is illegal._

Yes, it was safer this way.   
He would be stuck with the cargo room,   
out of mutual understanding.

“Deal,” Roy said, snatching the key out of her hand,  
all too eagerly. “Room  **Three** ,” she said.

He turned,   
he fled.

“However-“

Roy wasn’t the only one,   
quick, observant,   
knowing.

Lan Fan knew, and she shared  
her most honest truth.

“Do know it will not work, good General.”

Roy lifted an eyebrow,   
still struggling with the lock  
as she spoke.

“And, why is that?” he mumbled.

“I know a man quite like you.”

She and her Emperor lived a story  
the slightest bit similar   
to his own.

Roy furrowed his brow,   
focused only on his escape.

“It’s not your decision, in the end,”   
Lan Fan said softly. Roy locked his jaw,   
ripped the key through,

turned around to deny absolutely everything,   
but she was gone. He glanced at Room Four,   
only a step away.

Riza only a step away.

He resisted that step with all the strength he had.   
He threw the door open.

_This is illegal._

He slammed the door closed,   
and hid.

He hid,   
while Riza stood.

She did not hear anything, 

  
not Roy,   
nor LanFan,   
not even the most crucial warning,

_It won’t work, good General_

She perhaps could have used such advice  
to snap her out of it, prevent her demise.

But, Riza was too long gone, lost inside her head.   
She only heard the yank, the rumble of the slam.

Her stomach turned to stone,   
felt heavy, an unbearable pit.

And, Riza listened, frozen in that exact spot,   
the spot she stood when she watched   
Roy Mustang leave.

Riza knew there was a pull, while she stood   
there staring at the doorway,

In her mind’s eye, she watched Roy’s face drain white   
and burn red at the very same time,  
watching Roy turn and leave,  
escape.

Riza did fight back, though.

Her most rational, reasonable side pieced itself   
back together soon enough to even force her to lean  
away, toward the very back of the room.

She pulled.  
She tightened her feet,   
dug her toes into the carpet.

She needed something stronger.  

For, in the battle between Riza Hawkeye and the room across the hall.    
Her will to stay still was most certainly pulverized.

It was pathetic.

Riza Hawkeye surrendered,   
did not think, did not fight,

She wrapped her hand around the   
door knob one finger at a time,   
she breathed in,

willing not to make a sound.

She had clenched her eyes closed,   
thought about counting sheep,   
counting the fan, its spins, and its squeaks.

Granting some peace before giving into   
officially deliberate loss of control.

With no plan,   
with no reason,

Riza turned the knob, held her breath,   
stepped onto the carpet,

pivoted to close the door,   
so  _perfectly_  in synch with the room   
across the hall.  

Riza’s eyes widened at the sound, she spun,   
she held the knob behind her,   
gripped fingers.

She held it like some terrible secret,   
cursing the fact that she hadn’t stayed inside,   
mustered the strength to give up the fire.

But, there was Roy Mustang,   
still no shirt,   
also out   
and also caught,

his door wide open, also clenching the knob,   
ready to step toward Room Four.  

“Captain-“ he cleared his throat.   
“General” she said, so much less composed  
than she had ever been in her entire life.

“I was going to get some w-“   
“There’s an ice machine-“

“Yes, of course,”   
“Right, yes, Sir”

They had both picked the glass-of-water excuse.

_Lovely._

Each waited for the other to move,   
not able to retreat, because that meant   
something was weird,   
 _abnormal,_

There was no way they could join the other,   
even for the sake of their cover.

For, the probability that they would ram each other   
into the ice machine until Riza made that noise again,

that probability was far   
far too high.  

Damn him.   
Stupid dream.

Of all the nights.

This is certainly why they never shared rooms.   
Of course, it was only appropriate to separate genders.

But, it was  _mandatory_  to separate the General and the Captain,   
more mandatory than they had ever thought.

Decency be damned.   
Law aside.    
It wasn’t good for their health.

They wouldn’t get any sleep, she imagined,   
not just this night, but for weeks.

It was quite an obvious presence in their relationship   
most radically when he returned,   
twenty,   
fresh out of the academy,   
finally confronting just how madly   
he cared 

for Riza Hawkeye.

Riza realized she had started suffocating   
the moment he left to enlist.

She was alone with her father once more,   
the dead land, the toxic silence

a world without   
Roy Mustang.

 _Weak._    
Typical.

He returned.   
She caught her breath.

But, she had it under control.

They had it under control, permanently so,   
conveniently brainwashed by so many horrible things.

They had successfully forgotten,   
the truths of the past were gone,  
finally.

So,

It is reasonable that night,   
both Riza and Roy were dumbfounded,   
as to why the universe deviously decided   
to turn all their years of effort

into pure, raw,   
sexual   
something or other.

It was  _infuriating_  
It was inconvenient.

and it was completely  
 _unnecessary._

In the end, Riza caved. She went off to the lobby   
to fetch him a glass of ice cold, complimentary water.

She cursed under her breath as she pattered back to their rooms,   
the fresh glass in her hand she knew Roy didn’t need,

acutely aware she was still only in his shirt.  

_Where was her head?_

These were not the actions of a most respected  
and  _feared_ Captain Riza Hawkeye.

She needed to recover.   
It was mandatory she regain control.  

It was mandatory she return to her room,   
as soon as humanly possible.

Riza made quick work of a knock, the door opened.   
She focused on the floor,   
completely avoiding confronting  
her half naked commanding officer.  

She outstretched the cup.    
“Water, si-“  

Roy grabbed her wrist.

He pulled her into the room, guided her fast,   
backward into the wall, lips most accidently,   
most unintentionally,   
most inevitably,

centimeters from her own.

“General-“ she warned.

This was exactly the opposite of where she should be.   
She needed to get back to her room.

Riza shifted. Squeezing her legs together.   
Subconsciously, just most automatically   
shutting down any ideas   
his or her own.

It couldn’t happen.

Roy sounded almost heartbroken  
when he murmured to her,  “I can’t-“

Roy sighed, dropped his head,   
instantly spotted her long, long fair legs,   
and instantly snapped back up to her eyes.

It didn’t help all that much. But, he did handle  
her brown eyes every day. Not those legs.

Therefore, at the moment, it was far easier to look up,   
regardless of the fact that he was utterly,

powerless.

He kept sighing deep and defeated.  
Riza was distracted by the electricity coursing through her skin,    
yet still felt terribly bad for him.

Even when she shouldn’t have.   
For their own good.

Her eyes softened.

Roy composed himself, a true diplomat.   
“How often do you have those dreams?”

“Rarely,” she deadpanned, a safety mechanism,   
“If ever. I was just unbelievably unfortunate tonight.”

Roy blinked,   
oddly, briefly

 _disappointed_ , yet most  
modestly  _unconvinced._

Riza hid a swallow, a dry mouth   
as he stared at her. She needed to leave.

She needed her own room.

“I have an idea” a spark lit up   
Roy Mustang’s deep black eyes,

“You be Riza,”

“I am Riza, Sir.”  
“I’ll be Roy.”

“General-” she huffed.  
“Roy,” he breathed, “Just for right now.”

her Roy,   
from so long ago,   
that past instantly revived.

They had always been so comfortable,   
it was absurd how lax she was here,   
half dressed,

and she had certainly never been   
half dressed with him before, mind you

yet still it was  _her_  Roy,   
so familiar,

It certainly was tempting.    
Riza managed to still give him a look,

“This is not a good solution.”   
“But, _it is_  a solution,”   
 He countered,

a solution was all he needed.   
They just needed to get through the night.  
  
He just needed-

“Sir, the  _Emperor of Xing_  is in the other room,”  
 she said, coldly, sensibly, “He knows exactly who we are.

Officers of the Amestrian army.  
 _Direct_  superior and subordinate.    
We can’t get away from that.

Not even in Resembool”

Although Riza had regretfully revealed in one treacherous,   
terribly timed dream, that she would  _certainly_  want to get away with it,   
that she had most certainly pondered the possibility.

Roy, of course, had briefly forgotten the fact that Lan Fan  
was also in the other room.

 _With_  the Emperor.  

Perhaps he could strike a bargain.  
Or even blackmail the pair,   
  
 if worse comes to worst. 

They  _could_  be different people,   
at least for one night.

But, with Riza,  _his_ Riza, in front of him,   
so close after so long. Roy completely forgot nearly everything,   
except the feeling of her waist beneath his fingertips.

She didn’t mean to give in when he traced  
every curve from the top to the bottom.

She locked her jaw and gritted her teeth,   
knowing Roy Mustang, himself, at the end,   
would do her in.

It was always so, truly.

But, she had just finally trusted herself   
to forget and wait,   
and wait,   
wait.

She was so good at it.

But, that night, Riza Hawkeye  
was in the wrong place at the wrong time,   
and apparently much weaker than she always posed in public.

He left them in silence,   
watching the gears in her head turn.   
He left her to silence. He left her to crumble.

“ _Fine then,_ ” she itched,   
hands on his chest,

Roy got too close. His skin grazed hers all over.  
Oh yes, she was always much, much weaker   
when it came to Roy Mustang.

She gave in, “You can be Roy.”

She held his sides, pressed on her   
toes and kissed him just so,

_permission._

She successfully resisted   
immediately attacking him.

Her General wasn’t so strong.

He responded by shoving  
his lips into hers, bracing her neck,   
tangling fingers into her hair.

Riza did not even miss one step matching his speed.   
She skimmed her hands down his chest,   
the definition was certain the reason   
for her dream.

He needed a shirt.   
He  _really_  needed a shirt.

She gasped sharply when his hand   
slipped up the borrowed long over shirt,   
only just a feathered across her breast.

Before she could shamelessly beg for him  
to give up the tease,   
and just

grab it,

he pulled away and hovered her nose,   
breath sucked away, checking one last time,

that this wasn’t a pleasant dream,   
finally  _so graciously_  saving him  
from those blasted owls in the lobby.

It certainly could have been a wonderful dream.   
He checked to make sure. He checked, he hoped.

“And, you can be Riza?”

Riza was nearly too delirious to nod, but she did, in a flurry  
and it was then when things got too heavy.

Then was when everything spiraled out of their hands.   
Then was when he lifted her up, long legs wrapped around his waist.

He gripped her ass.   
She moaned lightly and he went crazy,   
shoving his tongue in her mouth.

His fingers fanned out, sneakily skimming the middle   
of her spread legs. She gasped, a delicate  _ah_ ,

a bit of a very uncharacteristic  _squeak_  
white hot spreading from her body to his.

It was too similar, too similar to the one   
from her dream,  _too too_  similar.

It was too too far.

_This is illegal._

They both knew it.   
He dropped her.

Yet, Riza shamefully, involuntarily drew him back   
before he could rip away,

and she was so  _intoxicating,_    
and she  _wanted_  this,  
he didn’t stand a chance.

He forgot.   
They forgot.

Roy and Riza now.

She wrapped her arms around his neck,   
wove her fingers through his black hair   
and so forwardly forced him closer.

She would regret this,   
she knew, all of this.

 _This is not Riza Hawkeye._  
How so true.

How so utterly false.

Roy grinned stupidly, kissed her, and kissed her,   
while his hands skimmed down her sides,   
outlining each curve once more,

and then his fingers found their way   
once again, in between her legs again,

somehow, annoyingly,   
aggravatingly,  _insufferably_  
just

_knowing_

it was precisely what she   
desperately itched for

from the very start.

He had forgotten.   
She had forgotten.

They had finally forgotten.   
Roy and Riza.

then he only just swept his fingers over the cotton,   
applied the slightest bit of pressure,

Riza actually, absolutely, fiercely   
gasped,  _squeaked_ , utterly choked   
so accidently,   
shamefully arching,   
almost crying a most fatal

“ _Roy_ -“

before she caught herself,   
before he truly heard her,

and their eyes snapped open,   
and they _remembered._

_This is illegal._

How humiliating.   
They tore apart.

Riza stood once more frozen,   
ice cold hatred for herself,

and her most evident Achilles Heel,   
when it came to anything and everything.

_Him._

Roy clenched his jaw and groaned miserably,   
nearly slamming his fist into the wall  

That was before he thought of Ling and Lan Fan.  
 _It won’t work, good General,_

And, it wouldn’t work, no matter   
how hard he took it out on the wall,

_It’s not your decision, in the end_

The other shoe had finally dropped.    
They were no longer above the most   
fundamental part   
of love.

What a headache.

There were a dozen different ways they could   
now handle the aftermath: denial, anger, silence  
just to name a few.

Riza Hawkeye, as logical and rational as she was,   
and Roy Mustang, as chained to science he had always been,   
could not deny any longer the cold, hard evidence,   
that they were drawn to each other.

This fact was now validated  
for the first time in 10 years,

and now   
they had to deal with it.

Riza could do silence.   
She was known for her astounding affinity for silence,   
her wise and calculated use of words.

But, in the moment, she had lost her mind,   
her skill, her many years of practice.

It was all wiped clean by the man in front of her,  
the soldier, the idealist, the key to the country’s future.  

The man she was sure she would give into if he opted  
to push her onto the queen sized bed   
and not stop until sunrise.

But, Riza had to react somehow, in someway,   
the energy had to go somewhere.

The soldier, the idealist, the key to the country’s future,  
her weakness could destroy everything.

Anger,   
she chose anger.

Roy could feel it from across the room, even   
as he climbed over boxes to get as far away  
from Riza as he could.

He knew it was coming.   
He braced for impact.

“I don’t appreciate it, General,” she started,   
following protocol, keeping it professional.

Well,  
as professional as she could be,   
while she stood half naked in a hotel room   
with her equally as undressed commanding officer

“Please don’t call me that.    
It’s making it worse.”

Roy hissed off the surge through his teeth,   
shaking his flannel pants,  
trying to pull them as loose as possible,

painfully noting the combination   
of  _Riza_  and  _his rank_  
outside of the proper setting,

turned him on   
far more than it should’ve.

He had to shut it down.   
Roy held the bridge of his nose,   
felt Riza’s death stare burn into his skin.

“I don’t appreciate being treated like one of your  _girls_ ,”   
she said quite softly, yet venomously.

He responded with fury,   
matching her choice of anger.  

Roy Mustang was always the only one   
who was willing to fight Riza Hawkeye.

Roy risked a step forward to her,   
pointing at her, calling her bluff.

“You are  _not_ like them and _you know it_.”

Roy knew all the things he meant by saying that.   
The layers upon complex layers of significance   
could fill several thick volumes of text.

All of it written down would rival   
the alchemy books of old.

which were generally boring,    
long, long   
and very long.

Yet, a young Riza forcefully ensured he read them   
all the way through, ensuring he kept up   
to his master’s, her father’s,   
unrelenting standards.

She never gave him a break.   
It was still so, even with this.

For not only was she so much more beautiful,   
captivating, bewitching, enrapturing.

She was the only good of his past,   
and the truest hope for his future.

No other woman held a candle to her   
in any facet, in any realm or universe   
any one man’s imagination could dream up.

but, quite obviously,   
 _she knew_

she was so much more substantial,   
much deeper and more profound,   
bright and brilliant

than the silly, flitty little dates  
he paraded around in the name of espionage,   
in the name of a façade that very often came in handy,   
when he needed to  _forget his Captain_.

Yet, most crucially,

She wasn’t fake.   
She was real.

This wasn’t an act.

She was not like them,   
and Roy was furious.  

because Riza was far too intelligent  
to be oblivious to such a glaring difference.

She knew it all, yet decisively chose to ignore it.   
She never gave him a break.

_You’re not like them and you know it._

“Forgive me if it doesn’t appear as such, Sir.”

“I will not shoulder this alone.” In what seemed to be one   
impossibly swift, singular move, Roy dodged trunks and suitcases,   
He stepped to her. He got in her face.   
And, nearly growled,

“I’ve been aware of  _this_ ,” he said.

Whatever  _this_  was.   
He motioned from him to her,   
throwing his arms into the air.

“I’ve been aware of the  _constant_  existence of all of this for years.   
I will not take the blame just because  _you_ suddenly caught up.”

“For years, Sir?”  She cut, unwavering even with his face  
inches from hers. She still stood firm and topped him childishly.

“I’ve been aware of it for more than a  _decade_.”

Knowing very well it was juvenile,   
yet chucking her most rational analysis into the wind.   
She didn’t care.  
She wanted to  _win._

They had both been aware.   
For so long. Since the beginning.   
And, they had never stopped being aware,

through fire and sand,    
blood and pain.

That connection,   
that bond,

was always there,   
all of it.

This piece, however. This piece  
they successfully made so small,   
broke into tiny pieces.

This physical piece,   
this raw, honest piece,

well, as mentioned, the other shoe   
had finally dropped, struck out of the blue,   
revived the past, and sealed their doom.

Still, she wasn’t prepared for him to start yelling.   
“Then  _why_  aren’t we DOING anything about it?”

Ling and Lan Fan  _must_ have heard that.

They would size up quickly that the General and his Captain were both   
in the wrong room, both wearing next to nothing,   
and pushed up against the wall,   
together.

They could no longer be Roy and Riza.   
They would always be General Mustang   
and Captain Hawkeye,

Riza was mortified that she even thought  
for a second that perhaps it was possible,   
possible to break free.

But, this was illegal,   
yet, more importantly,

it was wrong.

She bit her lip, lifted her chin,   
swallowed her pride, and said sternly,

“Don’t be obtuse, Sir.”  

Then she turned her back to him.   
No more needed to be said or explained.

“You know very well why.”

They had a goal.   
They had a dream.   
They had lost their right.

She wouldn’t be accused of ignoring all of this,   
when he had kept up the charade just the same   
all for the greater good.

He had suggested she be Riza.   
She had let him be Roy.

Abandon their rank,   
forget their responsibility,   
their duty,

and resurrect who they once were,   
how they once existed,   
that state, that place,   
together.

He knew why they buried that existence, abandoned that place,  
remained static. He knew why, and she would not let him  
pretend it was her fault.

“I’m going back to my room,” she said.

But, before she could turn the knob,   
Roy’s arm braced the door.

“Wait.”

She expected an apology of some sort.   
She expected a grave discussion,   
filled with pain and regret,   
shame and sadness,

a conclusion.

But, instead, the air shifted quickly.   
Roy stared at her, cleared his throat.

Her blonde hair tangled, and her cheeks red from sweating,   
and kissing, and yelling, and scolding. Even her trademark glare,   
the one reserved for when he behaved so so stupidly,   
foolishly.

all of that was kind of   
smoking hot. 

Ugh.

She deserved more than to be gawked at like “one of his girls,”  
real or no. Roy sighed heavily, guilty.

He looked her, up and down,   
and decided on the most effective solution.

“You have to put on pants.”

She scoffed. Could he not control himself?  
Men are so  _weak_ , she may have grumbled,

of course, knowing she shouldn’t be so quick to judge,   
when for every second of their conversation, Riza remained  
so close to utterly begging her General to lift her again,   
and pick right up where they left off.

“We’re in separate rooms now, Sir,”  
she bit back.  _Sir_ , not Roy.

It couldn’t be Roy anymore.   
“It doesn’t make a difference.”  

She turned the knob.   
He eased it back shut.

“It absolutely does.”

“How exactly?” She challenged him, gritting her teeth,  
her fingers itching to run through his hair again.  

He was right there.   
She could just grab him if she wanted.

So, she at least partially understood  
when he practically pleaded

“You have to put something on,” Roy tripped over his voice,   
“I have to know you are fully clothed before you leave this room.”

“In case you’ve forgotten, Sir All of our belongings are in the other room.”  
But, he was desperate, so Roy examined what seemed like hundreds   
of boxes cluttering the room, forcing them to stand even closer,   
no matter where they turned.

“Then we’ll find you something of Lan Fan’s”

“I will not break into someone’s personal luggage just   
so you can restrain yourself effectively,” she bit back resolutely.

Roy’s black eyes grew darker with utter despair.   
It was so silly, and so gravely serious all at the same time,

“I’m begging you, Riza. I can’t-“

Riza’s jaw locked.

And, of course, it was just something in Roy Mustang’s   
eyes and voice and face and sincerity and  _everything_ ,   
that always got her.

She looked him up and down,   
and decided the most effective solution.

“If I have to get dressed, you do too.”   
She countered. Once again, childish.   
Once again, not caring in the least.  

“You mean a shirt?”

She rolled her eyes.   
“Yes, sir, I mean a shirt.”

“You mean this shirt?”

Roy tugged on the hem of his t-shirt,   
loose around her body. Then he had the sudden  
and intense fear he was going to rip it off her,

so he pulled away.

“No,” she mocked lightly,   
“We’ll have to find you something of Ling’s”

“He’s seventeen,” he said, hacking a laugh.

Was she serious?   
She couldn’t be serious.

Him without a shirt was  _way less_ problematic  
than her without pajamas all together.

Riza tilted her head, cold as ever,   
hell bent on utter revenge.

“We’ll find you something of Lan Fan’s then.”   
“Not funny,” he grumbled.  

He was once a scrawny, skinny kid.   
She would tease him when they were young,   
only on occasion, when his head got too big.

Perhaps he could never actually fit into a petite   
sixteen year old girl’s clothing,

even when he was younger, but his old silly insecurities   
certainly made him feel that it might have been true.

It certainly wasn’t true now.  

He was toned now, muscled, defined,   
strong, a soldier - Riza was choking. 

“You put on a shirt.,” she demanded, distracting herself,   
“Or, I will walk out of this room as I am, and you   
will simply have to cope.   
like an adult.”

Roy huffed.   
Riza straightened.

And, they stared each other down.

He could give her his flannel pants.   
But, then he would be nearly naked.

She could give him her shirt,   
but then she would also be almost   
entirely undressed.

Neither of them could handle any of that.

And, neither of them had the strength or patience  
to find traditional Xingese formal garb that fit well enough  
to sleep in and could be returned by sunrise,   
appearing not-slept-in, and wedding ready.

Plus, most honestly, they probably wouldn’t have made it  
through even one box without giving up the search,   
and deciding to abandon what clothes  
they  _were_ wearing altogether.

Every option was simply a step in the wrong direction.

Every move made it easier, simpler, to finish shedding all final,   
utterly unwanted barriers, that had held them back for 10 years.

They were already out of uniform.   
They were already half dressed.

They were stuck.

Riza Hawkeye the invincible   
versus Roy Mustang the indomitable.

There was no way out, so they had to cave,   
give in to the lesser of two unfavorable solutions.  

It would be a common assumption that whoever stripped down  
and handed over their respective article of clothing,   
would be dubbed   
 _the loser._

But, let it be known, that Riza Hawkeye, when she did rip her   
commanding officer’s garment over her head, and threw it   
at Roy’s face, both a ghostly pale, and a red hot pink,

Riza Hawkeye had   
most certainly  
 _won._

“Enjoy your shirt, Sir” she said curtly,   
turning on her heels, chin up,   
perfect posture,

in nothing but smooth,   
 _perfect_  
black underwear.

Riza left.  
Roy nearly suffocated.

Game over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My fav of the four. One chapter left. Comment, kudos, follows, I crave attention. Tell me what you think. Share in my love for Royai. They are beautiful.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay. I have to publish this, or I'm going to go insane.  
> Welcome to the final chapter of my little annoyingly intricate smut fic.  
> This chapter...was supposed to be quick and dirty.
> 
> But, now. It's very long, and quite literally dirty.  
> I did not expect this. So many details. So very overwritten.  
> Bear with me. It's kind of worth it. Enjoy.

“Enjoy your shirt, Sir,” she said,   
  
and then she just took it off   
and then she just walked away   
and, while she did, she just looked like

_that_

and Roy couldn’t deny he pictured it before, imagined her like that  
shamefully so, even he could not dream up   
a woman so

_perfect._

Well, frankly, perhaps it had to do with the specific woman in question.   
Perhaps it was  _she_  who was perfect,   
regardless of any of her  _equally as perfect_  physical features.

Either way, it was too much.  

It was too much.   
He had to go get her.   
There was no way it could end like that.  

He had tugged her wrist, pulled her into Room Three  
with only the intention to at least  _talk_. 

That’s obviously not what happened.

He could truly promise he wanted to just _discuss_ or something,   
come to an understanding  
quell the tension,   
enough to get some sleep and subsequently have the ability  
to tolerate Fullmetal’s wedding service and festivities.

There was a dusk to dawn itinerary.   
Riza made Roy swear he wouldn’t complain about it.

But, she relinquished her authority to give him any orders at all   
after ripping off his shirt, effectively stripping down to next to nothing,   
and leaving him to absolutely never sleep again.

So, he couldn’t help it,   
and you can’t blame him.

Roy Mustang swung open the door to Room Three and chased after Riza Hawkeye   
knowing his chance to see her again -  _like that_  - would vanish in a matter of seconds.

His only chance to exist with her this way,   
like any normal pair of their caliber,   
if there were any competitive contender

such a chance.  
gone  
forever.  

He tripped over the carpet, crunched over ice from a complimentary glass  
of water he knew he never needed. He flew through that door and reached out  
to catch her before she evaporated, disappeared.

Roy stumbled into the wall. Roy looked up, and fortunately so,   
she hadn’t evaporated. Riza, instead, was frozen solid,  
forehead against the door to Room Four.

The one barrier that stood between her  
and sweet freedom from such a night,  
such humiliation.

Eye closed, fists shaking, not to mention particularly chilly from embarrassingly extreme lack of clothing.  
Muttering words under her breath, reciting verbatim that entire phone call, a very problematic one as is seemed.

For, during those short ten minutes, there were a handful of various amenities  
the little old lady bragged about to Riza while she booked their stay,   
as if there was any other inn available for consideration.  

Ice machine, brand new.  Cold, complimentary water available around the clock.  
“Oh, and automatic locks,” the owner gushed.

Riza rubbed her forehead.   
Central was chaos,   
She needed to make this quick.

“Courtesy of Ms. Rockbell, in fact.  
Such a talented mechanic, that one.”

Riza held the bridge of her nose, unsure that the theft rate   
in Resembool was substantial enough to call for fool safe locks.

Still, the woman took her time, rambling on, boasting, oh so proud.     
“We’re quite high-tech here at the Owl Inn.”  
“Wonderful,” Riza fought off the deadpan.

She didn’t particularly care,  _at all_. It made no difference,   
The room was still booked. There was no other option.   
She had work to do.

So she cut the conversation short the second she got the chance,   
made a hasty get away, rushing back to the office,

hoping the whole place   
wasn’t on fire _just yet._

_Automatic locks._

It made no difference.   
She gave it no thought.

But  _now._

Riza yanked the handle down once more, hard. She pushed. She gave up.   
Roy glanced from her hand to the handle to Riza,   
crunched closed eyes,   
numbing the panic  
as best as she possibly could.

Roy’s jaw dropped even before she could admit,  
absolutely, positively defeated, “It’s locked.”

The laughter began as a bark, no reservation, and most certainly   
no semblance of even some kind of discretion. Roy laughed,   
and choked, and chose to forget about the other two occupied rooms   
only feet away from them. Roy simply clutched his stomach and continued  
to pry his eyes open to watch her  _priceless_ glare,   
bare,   
in her underwear,   
locked out, trapped.

Every time he did look up sparked an even louder sort of ruthless snort,   
a strained smothered snicker, deep and relentless,   
filled to the brim with a rich mixture of spite, revenge,   
and pure euphoria.

The tables had turned.   
Roy Mustang now stood as  
the winner.   
  
Riza was livid.

“ _Shut. Up._  Sir.” she cut, a caustic whisper,  
“and burn down the door  _or something_.”

This struck the smothered snicker back into a larger and louder explosion.    
“You’d rather have me commit arson –“cough, laugh, wheeze,   
“than sleep in a room with me.”

Riza shook, incredulous. Had he not been conscious for the last thirty minutes?  
Not only had they slipped, shamefully lost control due to a pathetic, ill-timed,   
most unfortunate dream. But, they both proceeded, individually decided   
to step out into the hall

eager for more.

He had pulled her to him, lifted her up.   
She held him tight to her,   
moaned,   
and gasped.

They were caving and failing   
and buckling under the tension.

Had he suddenly forgotten?   
Roy Mustang: suddenly dull?

 _Of course_ , she would rather him burn down the whole inn, the whole town  
than go back into Room Three and backslide entirely.    
There would be no recovery if they returned   
  
“Yes. You’ve been itching to incinerate something all night, after all.”

Roy continued to cackle attempting over and over to contain it.   
He was truly untalented in dealing with such circumstances.  

“Burn. It. Down.  _Now_.”

Riza was way too close to hyperventilating.   
Roy was way too close to suffocating.

However, he did try very much to compose himself,   
think clearly, thoroughly, for just a moment   
mull over the options.

Riza thought then, in that moment,   
she had a chance.

Perhaps he would have compassion.

Roy Mustang was truly soft inside, most particularly around her, right?  
There was a chance, right? He would give up his gloves for her.

She knew he had brought them to bed, all on account of his   
charming and irrational fear of inanimate owls. He left his luggage,   
his keys, his shoes, his Captain.

But, he kept his gloves.

He would not die and die mortified.    
He would not die without kissing her again.

She could shamefully understand that, honestly.   
She knew he had them somewhere.

As it turned out those owls might be her salvation.   
As it turned out, those owls could have been.

until Roy proved himself mortal,   
imperfect, and infuriating immature,

quite the opposite as he seemed moments ago   
pushing her into walls, dark eyes,   
a smug, dominate smile centimeters from her lips,   
immortal, perfect, indubitably in control. 

Yet, with only Roy Mustang it could be so.   
Here in front of her, seconds later  
he giggled like a schoolboy,

overwhelmingly enjoying the fact   
that his little crush was practically naked,   
and trapped.

Riza couldn’t handle it, her toxic cocktail   
of panic, disappointment, fury,   
and ever persistent lust.  

Riza had ripped off his shirt abandoning Roy to choke on his words,   
bound to haunt his dreams forever. It was a clever play.   
Genius.

Even so, she waltzed out that door.   
She waltzed out and remembered.  

_Automatic locks._

Just like that.

Roy Mustang was now   
the winner.

Riza Hawkeye was not a loser.   
Riza Hawkeye was panicking.

She went back to the very basics, quick on her feet.   
Riza lunged for the door to Room Three,   
open wide.

She knew he would take his time drooling,   
bribe her, she imagined, tug her so close.   
She was sure,

So, instead, Riza lunged for the door.   
Yet, if there was ever a match for Riza Hawkeye,  
it was Roy Mustang.

Roy  _was_  choking on his laughter,   
working overtime to stifle it,   
keep their cover.

Still, he twisted after her,   
quicker,   
faster.

She snatched the handle.    
He snatched her hand and yanked

The door slammed shut. Her skin lit like fire.   
Riza stumbled backward as fast as utterly possible,   
as far away as possible.

_Automatic locks._

Damn it.

“Give me the key,” she seethed.   
“What key?” Roy raised his eyebrows innocently,   
coughing back his victorious laugh, his delighted giggles.

“It’s in your pocket,” she cut, muffling the desperation.   
Riza went diplomatic, transforming. Sure, steady, knowing.

The Captain.

There weren’t very many reasons for her to know this.   
So, Roy seemed rather impressed,   
yet not quite that surprised.

He smirked.

“Give it, “ she said.

“And, allow you to lock me out in the hall all night?”   
He scoffed, “Absolutely not.”

“You would not win that fight,”   
she agreed, she threatened.

“Oh?” he tilted his head and grinned,   
“How will you initiate then? Will you just reach for it?”

There.  

There was the rub, the grand road block.   
The key was buried deep inside his pocket, inside his flannel pajama pants,   
so deep she would have grip enough to rip them off him.

Restart this whole thing,   
back to square one.

Then there was the fact that Riza couldn’t get close enough  
to hit him without smashing her lips into his

He was right. He was  _genius_. She couldn’t initiate.   
So, Riza struggled to stay afloat, returning to her first plea.

“You’re forced to burn it down then.”

“No gloves. Regretfully,” he pulled his pockets free, then of course   
tossed the little key up into the air and snatched it back,   
“I can’t help you, Captain.”

Pure power,   
pure control.

He had the freedom to snicker and snicker,   
to take his time, gawk and admire,   
prolong the agony.  

She had no choice but to resort to extreme measures.    
She had to get back on top. She would not survive like this.

So, it was then that Riza crossed her arms and cocked her hip.   
It appeared as a habit of irritation, but, oh, was it calculated.

Honestly, Riza truly could not believe that she had sunk this low.   
Yet, in one swift move, her breasts pushed together, lifted, juicy.   
The kicker, however, she knew,   
were her legs.

So, it was then she drew his eye line to the round of her breast,   
the black bra overflowing. He followed that line from her bare stomach  
to the curve of her hip, and then down, down her long, long legs, fair and flawless.

Oh yes, Riza knew Roy Mustang’s weakness.   
In about a half hour, speaking not at all,  
she already knew precisely   
what made him crazy

that brilliant,   
stubborn,   
_ingenious_ woman.  

Roy swore it was involuntary.  
He wasn’t thinking. He couldn’t help it.

It was absolutely mandatory for that   
brilliant, stubborn, ingenuous woman   
_pay_  for her intelligence.

So, it was then Roy stepped, accidentally pretty much lunged,   
pushing her too quickly to the wall. Riza lost her breath  
and stumbled into his trap, locked down, arms on either side of her head.

Roy’s eyes went dark, and Riza then knew  
he was now dead set on torturing her,   
ruining her   
before she could ruin him first.

Of course,

She  _did know_ this was a possible outcome, a backfire to her tactic,   
and she certainly did not expect Roy to hand the key over without a fight.

So, what was the subconscious end game here, truly:   
the  _key?_  or the possibility that Roy Mustang would lift her up   
and carry her to straight to bed?

She wasn’t sure.

He hovered so close to her lips.  
No, not hovering,  _grazed_  
all over her.

Roy tried to fight the itch to crush her. He forced himself to be delicate,   
brushing his fingers down her side, all skin, soft soft soft.   
He weaved his arms around her waist, hands drifting down to her ass.

The black underwear suddenly seemed all too small, thin,   
leaving little to the imagination. Roy grinned on her lips,   
then squeezed.

Riza gasped into a cough then gritted her teeth so hard she felt they might shatter.   
 She grumbled, “You’re impossible.” Roy’s smile dissipated, just as frustrated,   
infuriated. “Yes, well. You’re the one who stripped.”  

“You’ve pushed me into a wall  _twice now_ ,” she cut, bumping into his nose.   
His breath hitched. He huffed if off and surprisingly forced himself away,  
as much as he could muster, at least  “Even so, you have yet to budge.”

Roy wasn’t fooled. Not even he could lock down Riza Hawkeye,   
corner her, pin her. Riza Hawkeye was not one to be pinned.

Yet, she had let it happen.   
She hadn’t moved, made no effort at all.   
She hadn’t before.   
She hadn’t now.

Riza was caught and pinned,   
and, one could say, quite contently.

She had to move. This had to stop. She so desperately wished to be yelling,   
and screaming and fighting, guilty and hurt, in pain once more.

They had let it get this far.   
so shameful,   
so irresponsible.

They had to move, retreat,   
but he-

“Stop looking at me like that.”   
“Like what?”

Roy’s eyebrows lifted with his head feigning utter naiveté, as if he wasn’t just tracing  
her ear with his lips, her ass with his fingertips, looking at her with those eyes, looking at her,  
“Like-“  Riza struggled.  She knew and she didn’t know.

“Like I’m going to  _devour_  you?”

Her throat then closed up, her stomach washed warm   
Roy had confirmed her theory.

Her face was steel, though her heart raced at tenfold rate.  
Roy stared at her, looking oh so innocent,   
and still said that word

_devour._

“So, you’re going to eat me then,” she deadpanned.   
Roy smiled, sinister, “Well, we did leave before dessert.”

“Oh, I see. I’m piece of apple pie now,” she had a much harder time   
not trembling when Roy’s eyes got deeper, darker, _hungry,_  
when he accidently licked his lower lip

“Well-“

Riza scoffed, pounding her fist into his bare chest.    
“ _Despicable_.” He only chuckled deviously, in control,   
still ever the winner.

Riza could not stand it,   
would not stand it.

She would not..  
not…

But, Roy tucked his nose to her neck,   
skimming from her collarbone to her ear,

brushing past her scar from the sword,   
the slice, one of the worst nights of his life,

He brushed past it without flinching,   
without remembering.

Everything was gone.

He was grinning, and she was giving in,   
sighing, all dreamy-like,   
all  _un-Captain Riza Hawkeye_  like.

“See, it’s my theory,” he said, voice low, dangerous,   
right into her ear, “that you want me to devour you.”

Roy wasn’t fooled.   
Riza Hawkeye could never be pinned.

“No,” she said, unconvincingly  before she, so luckily, managed  
to solidified her voice, “I do not wish to be treated like a meal.”

Roy exhaled a soft laugh, and kissed her just under her ear,   
just like that, instantly draining any will she had to deny  
she wanted  
actually wanted  
every piece of General Roy Mustang.

For once in her life, she even thought she could say it out loud.   
But, Riza Hawkeye held her cards close to her chest.

She was determined to win.   
She was determined to-

“No,” he snickered, interrupted her scheming, plotting,   
kissing her nick, dragging his tongue along the sharp line just so,   
effectively _tasting her,_  “I think you very well know that you’re-“

Riza swallowed, her eyes fluttering closed.  
She stretched her neck out for him,   
inhaled lightly at his kiss,   
his tongue.

oh, his tongue.   
No.

She was determi…  
to..

He actually then bit at her skin,  _sampling_ , then squeezed her hips.   
Riza held back a gasp. “You know very well that you’re-“

“ _Delicious_?” she breathed.

It was far too sensual,   
and the slightest bit degrading.

But, he was so close. She had lost control,   
she was quite a different woman.  

They were far, far away from Central, far, far away from their past,  
too far to see or remember. So wonderfully far far away.

She could say right now,   
she was a different woman.

However, to be quite frank,   
she was Riza Hawkeye ever still,

if any different, she was now unchained,   
smothered no longer, honest, true,   
and pure.

Well, maybe not pure.   
Nope.

Not pure   
at all.

 _Delicious?_ Riza had finished his thought.   
_It’s my theory that you want me to devour you._

There was now very little evidence that  
Roy Mustang was even remotely incorrect.

_Delicious._

Roy looked up to her.   
He blinked.

She opened one eye, waited,   
so curious as to what he might-

Roy slammed her all the way up against the wall, a little too rough,   
a little too hungry. Riza gasped, unwillingly squeaked,   
then Roy went for her lips, desperate, starving,   
stopping at nothing,

That is except for Riza out right,   
honest to god,  _moaning_  
once more.

She had kept her cards close to her chest.   
She could lose her composure all she wanted.

She could heat up and itch for his skin,   
beg him to rip her to shreds,   
black cotton, pale skin,   
heart and all.

She could pull his hand between her legs,   
drag his fingers along the far too soaked cloth.

He could make him pant at the wet, crave for it to coat his fingers, his tongue.   
She could too cry out for it all desperately. Ever so pathetic, simple,   
despicably, eternally hypnotized,   
compromised.

Still.

It would only result in failure, a loss,   
and Riza Hawkeye was a winner,

She would win.   
She had to win.

“ _Mn_ ,” so she moaned, groaned, inhaled  
his ultimate undoing, “ _General_.”

Roy clenched his jaw, forced to pull away, his lips from her lips,   
his hand from the hem of her underwear, ready to rip.   
He had to pull away, snapped into shock.

“Oh,” he actually whined to her brown eyes. “ _Unfair._ ”   
She was an evil genius, disguised as a perfect vixen.

Everything calculated, targeting his demise.   
And, Riza just huffed, rigid, ready for him to unravel.

Riza Hawkeye:   
the winner.  
  
Finally, once more. 

She smirked then shrugged like Roy Mustang would,   
a taste of his own damn medicine.

She titled her head and picked her excuse.   
She raised an eyebrow and played make believe.

“I was trying to get you to back off, Sir”   
she explained, adding the formality.

“ _Nmh_ ,” he gritted desperately.

Oh yes, his reaction to  _Sir_ ; just as satisfying.   
Roy swallowed away the throb, managed to cough a laugh   
and not spare her a second, give her a break, or even humor the idea.

No.

He instead snaked his arms around her waist,   
and very much nearly yanked her into his groin.

Riza so almost arched into the rock solid, agonizingly close to the center.  
She was so proud, however, that she hid the jolt of that desperate reflex.   
She hid it so very well.

Except she hadn’t.

Riza had bit her lip, and Roy knew. He felt the buck of her hips, heard  
the tiniest whine behind her lips, “ _ahmn_ ” Topping it off, he gave her a taste.  
of her own damn medicine.

_I was trying to get you to back off._

Roy pinned her to the wall again, pressed his knee in between her legs.   
He leaned to her ear, and rumbled out a deep, “It certainly didn’t sound that way,

 _Captain._ ”

Riza trembled through a silky, soft, starved moan  
She was most obviously not immune.

Her rank in his voice,   
in _that tone,_  
oh god.

Two could play this game.

Roy Mustang:   
the winner.

Yet, this time.   
Finally.  
Riza Hawkeye willingly conceded.

Electricity buzzed from his fingertips to her skin,  
through every vein, muscle, and nerve.

She would surrender. Yes, she would concede.   
Her undoing. Roy Mustang.

Checkmate.

He held her cheeks,   
guided her lips close.

He breathed out.  
She breathed in.

 _It certainly did not sound that way, Captain._  
She blinked, so far far gone.

“Perhaps it did not,” she mused softly,   
He grinned, not smug or proud,   
just

happy.

And, for once in their lives,   
there was peace,   
everything was slowed, languid,   
everything was quite and irrelevant

except for his fingers weaving   
through her blonde, hot skin on hot skin.

Even so, he kissed her chastely, bit her bottom lip and tugged gently.   
He spoiled himself with sweets. He indulged in a little apple pie.

Roy parted and saw Riza  
honestly, purely  _smile_  right back.

He then lost his breath and the peace was gone, the world warped rapidly,   
a delightful speed. He rushed going straight for her panties,   
for the cotton at her hips.

His touch trailed down. He even dared to hook the cotton in his fingers.   
He watched Riza’s eyes flutter close, lips part,   
scrunching her nose, anticipating the pull,   
unadulterated

ecstasy.

He would have perhaps followed through.   
She perhaps would have given in.

Certainly, in fact. 

He saw that smile in the back of his mind,   
genuine, rare. Everything else was gone.   
Roy and Riza.

They would have pressed on, followed through, given in.   
Yet, the realization always arrived.

They were too sensible, too dedicated to be rid of it for good.   
This time the return was gradual, gentle.   
He blinked, almost heartbroken.   
Her brown eyes opened. They softened, defeated.  

Perhaps they would have followed through.   
Perhaps they would have given it.

Yet, they had an agreement, a future.   
_It certainly did not sound that way, Captain._

Roy huffed, hung his head, “Perhaps it should have.”  
Riza thinned her lips, nodded softly.  

It was humiliating, to be honest:

the excruciatingly insufferable,   
relentlessly reasonable   
very logical  
consistently correct   
piece of the mind catching them in the act,   
doing something extremely stupid

three times in one night,   
back to back to back.

Perhaps it would have been easier, if that night   
were all about cravings, and hunger, lust, 

_apple pie._

They could forget. It would linger for a week, maybe two.   
No close quarters, little eye contact. But, back to work.   
Amestris took precedence.

Instead.

Against that wall, Roy had spent most of his time studying her skin,   
kissing her so delicately, tugging at her gently all over.   
Such moves were not fueled by lust-

He had pinned her.   
He had made her moan and arch.  
He even labeled her as a delectable dessert.

Yet, he had also made her  _smile._

Roy’s lips brushed her cheeks,  
kissed the skin tender beneath her ears.

These things were not rooted in lust, but rather  
the polar opposite side of the romantic relationship spectrum.

That, when it came down to reality was really the  _worst possible outcome_  
of a simple, disastrous clerical error. Not the lust.   
But, the so clear cut

adoration.

They were in trouble.

This was something that would pull away from Amestris,   
their call, their obligation. Prove itself more important,   
over and over and over.

It couldn’t happen. They had to recover now,  preferably before morning.  
Roy nodded resolutely, then stepped away and fished out the key to Room Three.

“I’ll go get my gloves.”

Riza cinched a sweet smile.   
She knew he had taken them with him.  

The owls of Owl Inn were their salvation in the end.

He could melt the lock, he thought, open it then shape it back together.   
Strategic, little damage, the softest form of arson to deliver Hawkeye   
some much-needed peace,  
solace,  
an escape.

“I do have your permission, I imagine, to burn down that door,”   
his joke faltered into almost melancholy, “for your sake.”

“This one time, Sir.” she nodded, huffed,   
the blaze gone, then smiled small, “For my sake.”

Finally. They were heading in the right direction.   
Roy pulled out his key, fiddled with the lock,   
opened the door, but Riza couldn’t move.

Roy did not go in, but studied the carpet,   
then, of course, turned back.

One last step in the wrong direction.

Roy grasped her hand, brushed her fingers with his thumb,  
never committing to weaving them tight. He knew she wouldn’t let go.

Instead, he nudged her nose, brushed her cheek,  
kissed it feather soft, and stayed far too long.

There was a click.   
Room One.

There was peace, quiet  
a kiss on the cheek,  
_click._

“Turn around,” he ordered.

They were doomed.   
Roy ripped away.

Riza crinkled her brows, throat closed, eyes actually glassing over with water.   
He had ripped away from her and the shock of the sudden solitude   
took her hearing. The lock on Room One, the click did not exsist.

His demand was only silence.   
Instead, she reached out for him.  

 _One more minute_ , she nearly begged, that is  
until he heard his more pressing plea, his panic.

“Riza, turn around.   _Now_.”

He snatched her shoulders, twisted her himself,   
then pulled her backward toward the door.

That’s when she felt ice. Roy shook in just the slightest.   
Yes, they went too far this time,  
too deep.

**Her tattoo.**

They had forgotten.   
She had forgotten

to the greatest extreme.

Even in their soft realization,   
they had forgotten their position,   
their attire,

the stakes.

Roy and Riza. No.   
The General and the Captain.

They had forgotten who they were, what they had done,   
what they had to hide, what they deserved.

They couldn’t get away from it.   
The General and the Captain.

They couldn’t get away from it.  
Not even in Resembool.

Now, the door to Room One, it was opening.   
Now, they were exposed, caught, done for.

But, it was only a hot second until Roy pushed her through the door.   
He followed right after, his final measure to block the view,   
the bra, the panties, the blush and the sweat,   
the tattoo.

The door to Room One inched open,   
just far enough to peek through.

Roy and Riza. They were doomed. Roy and Riza, they were gone  
when Lan Fan peered around the frame. They hid.   
They vanished.

For good.

That being said.   
They still most conveniently,   
most unfortunately

did end up once more flush against each other,   
again.  _again,_  Riza Hawkeye, pinned.

again.

Roy watched Riza smash her eyes closed.  
as if that would solve the problem,

as if by pure force of will, they could stay themselves,  
as they once existed together. Roy frowned.

Riza Hawkeye was capable of a great many things,   
but, not this. She couldn’t do that. She couldn’t solve this.

She would shoulder the guilt, he knew.

Damn it.  

“Is anyone out there, Lan Fan?” Ling called out.   
Roy leaned over Riza, straining to look through the peephole.

He saw the young girl look down the hall toward the lobby,   
feigning some sort of investigation before she looked straight  
to Room Three.

She most definitely knew before she even opened her door,   
Lan Fan knew precisely what was happening.

_It will not work, good General._

Roy still ducked as if the girl would see him through the solid door,   
find them, catch them, leak the details under obligation to   
the Emperor of Xing

or, well,   
_her boyfriend._

His chin rammed into the top of Riza’s head.

She hissed off the pain and whispered angrily, “Ouch,  _Sir._ ”  
She was furious with him, furious with herself,   
with the whole situation,

and livid that she was actually somewhat happy   
to be back with Roy in Room Three,

Riza Hawkeye could do a great many things,   
but she could not cut away the fact that she melted  
into a hopeless puddle

when Roy whispered, “Sorry.” brushing the skin   
at her waist apologetically. He clutched her tighter,   
nose to her hairline.

Yes, Riza Hawkeye melted.

No longer was this lust.   
No longer could they shake this.

They were doomed.  
Riza smashed her eyes closed.

Shameful.   
Stupid.  

Roy risked another glance back through the peephole. Lan Fan cleverly  
decided to pick her words carefully, knowing she was being watched,   
knowing Ling was behind her, chin tucked into her shoulder,

knowing Roy Mustang saw through her,   
knowing very well they could be blackmailed.

Oh my god, Roy remembered, blinked,  _they could be blackmailed._  
That was their ticket. He could save the night.   
Roy and Riza.

“No, your majesty,” she said flat, “seems like it’s coming from one of the rooms.  
” “Interesting,” Ling called from behind her, peering over her himself.

Lan Fan glanced to him then pointed to Room Three.   
They both knew for certain. No strokes of luck in sight.

“Indeed,” Lan Fan agreed quietly, “Interesting.”  
“Damn it.” Roy whispered, but then watched Ling snake arms   
around his bodyguard’s waist and turn her, hovering far too close.

Oh yes, they could be blackmailed.

“What?” Riza was still clueless to this, however.   
She turned, pressed up on her toes, trying to look herself.

Roy gently pressed her back down, hand on top of her head,   
stuck on deciding if he should keep this to himself.

She would be grumpy, Roy knew. Still, Riza Hawkeye didn’t need   
more to worry about, to carry around for weeks, months, years.  

He had already begged, pleaded they forget everything,  
everything but Roy and Riza. He had already practically tackled her  
with the sole purpose of hearing her moan,   
devouring her.  

Thrice. 

She was in inconsolable distress by all his antics,  
everything he couldn’t control,   
everything about this state,   
this night,

They would end up here someday.   
They belonged here.

Not necessarily half naked, pressed against each other,   
and hiding from the Emperor of Xing.

But, together, yes, even under this context,   
Roy knew this.  To be cheesy, this was a small gift,   
holding her close, so close,  
just for a night.

It was disastrous.   
It was a gift,

and Roy had already accepted this as their irrevocable end result.   
Riza, however, knew it only as a private, hopeless, impossible wish.

She was so good at punishing herself, soaking up the shame,   
the mental beating. Her father was a marvelous teacher in such techniques.

So, yes, he decided to keep her down.   
Of course, it didn’t matter in the end.

Lan Fan glanced over her shoulder, concern,  _blackmail._  
And, Ling knew it all though she said nothing.   
He knew his protector, his best friend,   
his Lan Fan.

He read her. He turned her. He relaxed her shoulders,   
gave her a smile. Roy sighed, understanding,  
perhaps only a touch of blackmail.

an agreement, maybe,   
to put all their minds at ease.

Ling knew Roy was watching.   
Ling knew there wasn’t cause for fear.

_I know a man quite like you._

“Come back to bed.”

Riza’s eyes shot open, jaw dropped.   
Roy’s mouth melted into a deliciously warm smile,   
snickered at her shock and barely whispered to her,

“I know”

Yes, an agreement.

Ling and Lan Fan.  
Roy and Riza.

For tonight.

The door to Room One closed.   
They stood in silence.

Riza found herself gripping Roy’s torso, holding it tight,   
listening to his heartbeat, catching the breath she hadn’t known she lost.

She tried to look up,   
but it didn’t truly work.

He was too close, nose on hers, lips centimeters away.   
They needed to move, and move in the right direction.

She breathed in the air, filled with everything   
that was purely Roy, then accidently, in the process,   
rested her forehead against his chest.

Riza could feel, study the vibration as Roy chuckled, “Sleepy?”   
“Yes,” she deadpanned. “You’re exhausting,”

“Make your jokes,” he smirked, prideful,  
“We still have to share a bed tonight.”  

Riza gave a labored sigh,   
legitimately worn out.

“After all that fuss.”

Of course, Roy still could melt the lock to Room Four.   
They did not necessarily have to share one queen sized bed.

Neither mentioned this.

Riza stayed. But, she did pray that they could forget  
the walls and grinds, sighs and moans.

Roy and Riza could just sleep, wait it out until the mood passed,   
then they could leave, They could talk to Ling and Lan Fan in the morning,  
convince them to move their luggage elsewhere for the remainder of their stay.

Their last night they would have separate rooms.   
The slate would be clean. It would be time to start   
forgetting once more.

They could do this.

Alas, in that moment, neither Roy nor Riza chose to move.   
He just grinned down at her, broke the tension,   
like only Roy Mustang could.

“I’ve been told I’m incredible in bed.”   
“You have never been told that,”

Roy had to resist urge to kiss his Captain,   
his best friend, not too deeply, soft and quick.

Fatefully, it was not lust anymore.  
They inched dangerously, perilously close  
to the much purer opposite.

Dangerous.  
Unwise.

So, Riza then demanded softly,   
“Give me the shirt back, please”

Roy reached to the ground  
and scooped it up. “But, of course.”

He watched her pull the shirt over her head.  
The moment peace swept through the room.  

The catastrophe over, the foe of the hour faced,   
and deferred at least until tomorrow,  
the battle to forget.  

The night was over.

Roy stepped back close to Riza.   
She pulled her long hair into a ponytail   
and eyed him warily as he watched her.

He had no ill intention in his eyes,   
no advance, no pressure.

He never did. Instead,   
there was something else.

Something kind,   
delicate,   
and _lovely._

He tucked a missed strand of blonde,  
behind her ear, and just stood there,   
looking at her.

Not gawking at her lack of clothing.   
Not choking over his hormones.

He sighed into a smile,   
into a reassuring peace.

 _Such a cliché_ , she huffed,  _such a silly man._

Since she was young, Riza Hawkeye had resolutely accepted   
that she was not a woman of the marrying type,   
nor a woman of the loving type.

She was beautiful.

But, she was colder,   
damaged,   
and broken.

The same was of Roy Mustang,   
damaged, broken.  

Yet, he always managed to be so irresistibly warm.   
For so long she thought she never would be the type of woman  
a man might love  _unconditionally._

Riza consistently choked over the fact  
that Roy’s eyes always said

something quite different.

Perhaps it was the Wedding. 

Riza blinked then had to push past him through his shoulder.   
She had to act like it was nothing. The night was over.   
It was time to sleep.

Time to forget.   
So, she pushed past him,   
and tucked herself into bed.

He waited back, gave her privacy   
and moved only when she muttered,   
“Ready, Sir.”

Riza counted striped on the wallpaper.  She felt the mattress dip,   
while Roy settled with his back to her. The night was over.

It was time for sleep.

Still, Roy blinked, wide awake, huffing off the churn in his stomach.   
Riza bit her lip and counted the spins of the fan.

one.   
two.   
three.   
fou-

Roy pulled one of his pillows and set it between them,   
a barrier. Riza caught it, “That’s not necessary.”

He let the pillow go and watched her blink in the dark   
It was actually quite necessary, Roy thought.

She was still only in his night shirt, long, long fair legs.   
Roy cleared his throat. Oh yes, a barrier was quite necessary.

Yet, he studied his Captain’s eyes in the moonlight   
and saw the slightest bit of panic, regret,   
loneliness.

They had been separated for more than a decade.   
The night was over, but it wasn’t.   
They still had the slightest bit of time.  

He remembered her in the hallway, reaching to pull him back.    
_One more minute._ So, he placed the pillow aside and nodded.   
Riza nodded right back, sighed, and turned back to the fan.   
Roy did the same.

She closed her eyes and did her best   
to count sheep instead. 

one   
two  
thr-

“We could cuddle,” he offered a solution, a small one, a simple one.   
He smirked and he grinned, and Riza felt warm, glancing at him,   
“I’m just fine, Sir. Thank you.” He huffed a smile, “Shame.”

It must have been the Wedding, she thought. 

Silly little parties that made their guests just the slightest bit insane.   
The Captain and her General. They had been distracted, she was sure,   
thinking, dreaming, forgetting pajamas and all.

Perhaps they had gotten swept away.   
Caught up in such frivolous things.   
Tomorrow they would reset, forget.   
The night was over.

This was goodbye.

Still, she breathed into a soft smile, “Goodnight, Roy.”   
He blinked at his name in her voice, on her lips,  
sincerity, content, sort of kind of  _happy._

Roy turned to her and nodded,  
and counted down, preparing.

Roy and Riza for the last time for a long time.     
He hesitated, accidently reaching to ghost knuckles over her cheek.   
Riza bit her lip, kept her eyes locked closed. The night was over.

Roy and Riza for the last time   
but for only just a little while.  

one, he said under his breath.    
two, she understood, whispering in her mind.

three.

“Goodnight, Riza” he turned away. As lovely as it had been,   
the night was now over.  _Goodbye._ at least for now.

one.   
two.   
**three.**

“Goodnight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i had to post it. i was going crazy. hopefully this is quite realistic. this kind of thing is hard to write for them.i believe this situation would be very unique for Roy and Riza, and Ed and Winry's wedding is - i believe - the time that all this would all come up.
> 
> a tiny very sweet sequel is coming. until then  
> commentcommentcomment if you still aren't disgusted.  
> i love royai and i love you. :3
> 
> tumblr: myrhymesarepurer


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